Opinions are like orgasms. Mine’s more important and I dont care if you have one.
no mom, I can’t make my bed, I’m too busy being a wicked cool bad ass rebel punk also can you make me a grilled cheese
All the blogs I follow appear to know each other on a first name basis, I feel like an awkward 223rd wheel or something.
ah yes, the 90s. i have fond memories of that decade. crying, pooping my pants every day, wearing diapers, being bald, being a baby. that was the high life.
I remember how you manipulated me, you pushed me around, abused me, erased my memories, FED on me…